


Magic Hands

by fancywaffles



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3232586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancywaffles/pseuds/fancywaffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was more than words, it was a yearning, a want to completely own every inch of Hawke so that one else could have him. (AKA, a Day Trip to the Wounded Coast, and let's not even pretend this isn't just PWP.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Hands

Fenris could now say that he knew the difference between being valued and having value. He had been afraid that giving himself to Hawke would be allowing another to take possession of him, but it could not have been anything but the opposite. Danarius prized his lyrium markings and the pain they caused him, especially when inflicted himself. Hawke made a breathless noise in the back of his throat every time he almost touched one--the concentrated effort he took to avoid them while they were in the throes of passion, flared a possessive heat inside Fenris that he was still unsure of. He could not remember a time when he ever truly owned something (let alone some _one_ ), but when he pushed into Hawke, he wanted to possess every inch of him. 

"Hawke," Fenris said, skimming his hand down the man's side. 

"Did anyone ever tell you?" Hawke asked.

"Tell me what?" Fenris asked, sliding his hand over the jut of the man's hip and curving around the back, pressing their flesh closer together, unbearable in armor and robes.

"I had a line," Hawke said, "and it has completely flown from my head."

"Good," Fenris said and undid the lacing that attached Hawke's pants to the top of his robes. He slid them down, smiling as Hawke raised his hips to help and then dragged him up to kiss him. It was easier in moments like these to kiss Hawke rather than talk to him, the heat radiating off the mage's body sliced even through Fenris's armor so blistering that it was all Fenris could do not to tell Hawke exactly how he felt. It was more than words, it was a yearning, a want to completely own every inch of Hawke so that one else could have him. Falling for the Champion had made that difficult at best (a man so called upon and owned by everyone he met) and when Fenris was not biting Hawke's lower lip and sucking it between his teeth, he remembered that. For the moment, allhe wanted was the heat to overtake them both and burn everything else away. 

Hawke reached down  between  them, sliding his hand beneath the latches in  Fenris 's armor that  he now  was familiar with removing--why had  Fenris  wasted three years in which  he could  have learned that? Hawke's hand was calloused from gripping his staff too tight, ridges that intersected so differently than had he wielded a sword. His long fingers stuttered their approach as they wrapped  Fenris 's cock in their grip. 

"What was that?" Hawke asked. He was a man of cheer to an infuriating level, but at the moment his laugh was husky with desire and the amusement in his eyes was darkened with want. "I didn't quite catch it. You want what?"

"I didn't say anything," Fenris pointed out and lowered his head down to kiss Hawke again. The mage turned so he couldn't, but that only left his neck exposed and Fenris kissed, tasted, and bit wherever skin uncovered.

"You said you-- _Fenris_ , yes that's--you said that 'you want...' you growled it, but you said it. No, I change my mind, don't answer keep doing that."

Fenris bit down harder and Hawke groaned. He did not want between them to be unequal, to derive pleasure from Hawke's pain, but if the mage kept making noises like that... "I want..." Fenris splayed his hands out on Hawke's hips and dragged his trousers further down, cupping the man from behind. "You."

"You have me," Hawke breathed, serious for once, turning to slide his mouth against Fenris's, tangling their tongues for a harried moment. "However you want."

It was impossible.  _He  _was impossible. Fenris could do nothing but push Hawke hard into the ground and rock his own hips against him, armor only half undone. He moved his fingers down the curve of Hawke's ass and slipped his thumb into the break between it. "I want all of you."

"Ngh," Hawke said, hips bucking in response, his hand around Fenris's cock squeezed slightly. "I--I don't have anything."

That was. "What?"

"The mercenaries broke the potion containers, remember? That was one of them." Hawke frowned, mouth twisting in frustration, but it was nothing compared to the heat, set deep in Fenris's stomach. Hawke seemed to sense that, staring up at Fenris with a hesitant, still desiring expression. "I... I mean, I could always... magic."

Magic was always between them and always would be, the lyrium marks marring Fenris's skin and the powerful magic burning in Hawke's blood. Fenris had eventually grown accustomed to allowing Hawke to heal an occasional injury and its use in fighting was too part of their rhythm to ignore, but they never used or mentioned it during times like this. "That's possible?" Fenris said, sounding much more accusing than he desired.

Hawke laughed. " _That_ is a trick every single mage learns on their dominant hand the moment puberty hits." The mage sobered a little and breathed out, pained as if the way  Fenris was leaning on him was heavier than it actually was. "We don't have to. There are other things we can do. We've done most of them in the past few weeks." His grin was shameless. "I know they're rather enjoyable."

"No," Fenris said. He wanted Hawke. He wanted to possess every inch of him in a way that touching was not enough. "We can... we can try it."

Hawke nodded and breathed out. He shifted to the side a little, reaching back towards his staff laid out on the ground next to him. His hand only touched the base of it and then his eyes closed. Fenris had time to study Hawke. The moments the mage did magic in front of him were too harried to ever fully observe the way Hawke's brow furrowed and his lips parted slightly, letting one singular puff of air out between them. After a moment, Hawke smiled and his right hand still loosely gripped around Fenris became slick. "Good to know the classics still work."

It felt like the oil, but it had not come from a small vial or a large container next to the bed, it had come from Hawke, conjured out of nothing. "Turn," Fenris said, reduced to one-word commands rather than all of the things he wished (and did not wish) he could say. 

In any other situation Hawke would have argued, bantered, complained, but he merely turned over, lying with his hips pitched up slightly in the air. His slick hand came back to Fenris and the moment their palms touched, only Fenris's hand was slick. He wasn't sure if the shot of heat through him was a cringe or pure desire. Fenris slid his fingers into Hawke, stretching him as slowly as he could manage with the mage groaning wanton beneath him.

Hawke's hands twisted at the blanket, wrenching the fabric into uneven folds as Fenris settled behind him. "Get on with it, already," Hawke said with a laugh, pushing backwards towards Fenris's groin.

Fenris slid in after that, feeling Hawke's groan shudder through his body. He pushed all the way in and stayed there for a moment, sliding his hands down the planes of Hawke's stomach and underneath his robes to tangle in his chest hair, before sliding back and then slamming back in--Hawke braced himself on his elbows, burying his head in his arms which did nothing to muffle the needy whimpers on each thrust. This was his. Hawke was his. There was nothing else in this moment, but Hawke and Fenris and they were one. Hawke was _his_. Something that no one, not even the ghost of Danarius could take from him.

Fenris brought the hand not holding Hawke's hip still around him and wrapped his fingers around the length of the mage, sliding down with the same slickness that was letting him move in and out of Hawke, pressure building between the both of them in a fire that extended past the pain and only the both of them existed. Hawke let out a quiet cry of release as he came and his muscles contracted around Fenris, mid-movement. Fenris did not last much longer after that. The pace increased, but Hawke's stuttered and complaint encouragement brought him to his end.

Hawke let out a harried, breathy laugh and turned his head a little to glance back at Fenris as they sprawled out next to each other on the blanket. "I am, you know."

Fenris touched the dark hair falling across Hawke's brow and tangled his fingers in it. "Are what?"

"Yours," Hawke said, smiling at him with an expression Fenris was not sure he deserved. "Every inch."

"I said that out loud?" Fenris asked, frowning at the shock-waves still shuddering through his legs that blurred the memory and made this moment sharper.

"Yelled, is more like, the whole mountain probably knows," Hawke said with a grin. 

"And I am yours," Fenris said, as he had many times when other words did not hold enough. The strength of the love in Hawke's eyes almost drowned him, but the mage only pulled Fenris towards himself, hands as gentle as ever.


End file.
